Time(1): Lizzie's Suicide Note. Jonathan And David Go To The Rescue.
Working...12960 minutes.
* * *
Lizzie "The Dyke" Czakowski drops another note through the louvers in Tinker Bell's locker. It floats toward the bottom of the locker, rises momentarily on a thermal wave caused by the heat rising from David's just-worn gym shoes, takes an unfortunate turn back toward the door, and exits the locker through the louvers at the bottom of the door. Lizzie doesn't notice. As she hurries away, she kicks the note several feet along the hallway.
Lizzie's father, Harvey, lovingly puts the finishing touches on the urinal in the boy's restroom. He stows his can of furniture polish in the cleaning cart and pushes the cart into the hallway. He is about to head for his little supply room in the basement when he spies the piece of paper lying on the floor.
"This is too bad," he thinks and we think. Harvey doesn't like clutter and we don't like to think what he'll think when he reads the note.
"Love rejected is love denied," Lizzie has written to David's gym shoe. "Love denied is life rejected. Life rejected is death beckoned. Death is the sole sundered." (This last is curious. Either Lizzie is referring to the sole of David's gym shoe which is, indeed, coming apart, or she has misspelled the word, soul. If she can't spell soul, how does she know the uncommon word, sundered? Curious.) "My death is on your head!"
Immediately, Harvey recognizes his daughter's untidy scrawl, which eliminates somewhere between one-third and one-half of the questions he must ask himself. He should be grateful, but of course, he isn't. He'd rather have the questions. He'd rather turn the note into the principal and let him worry about the identity of the "about to self-destruct" student. Harvey is made uncomfortable by his daughter's threat to off herself. If he had made something of himself and become a janitor in the psychology building at Johns Hopkins University, he might have known Dr. Frederick Lowe, who could have told him that seventy-six percent of all teenagers threaten to kill themselves, but only about a hundredth of a percent actually do it. Dr. Lowe might also have told him that Poles are a people who inexplicably love life and thus, only forty-eight percent of all Polish teenagers threaten suicide and the number who actually do it is approximately equal to the number of Polish billionaires. If he wasn't sick of talking to Harvey by then, Dr. Lowe might further tell him that the report from the Presidential Commission on Suicide Among Teenage Polish Dykes (PCoSATPD) couldn't find any. Harvey is welcome to read the report -- all seventeen thousand pages -- if he doesn't believe it.
Harvey is not grateful, and he's never heard of Dr. Lowe. He is scared. He has only two questions, but they are hard ones:
1. Where is Lizzie now?
2. For whom was the note intended?
a. Student or non-student?
b. If intended for a student, is the student male or female?
c. If intended for a student, and the student is male, does that mean Lizzie has gone straight?
d. If intended for a student, and the student is female, does that mean the things they say about her are true?
e. If not intended for a student, is it intended for himself?
1) If not intended for a student and intended for himself, is she blaming him for something?
2) If not intended for a student and not intended for himself, then...who?
3. Has that damn Tinker Bell got anything to do with this?
That's three questions. No matter. Harvey crumples the note in his hand and hurries toward the school office where there's a phone.
"Your damn fool kid is killing my daughter!"
"Hello?"
"Huh? What? Hey! Are you there?"
"Hello?"
"Who is this? What's going on?"
"Jonathan Bell here," Jonathan says politely. "Please--"
"That damn kid of yours--"
"--hold."
It's not going well, is it? There are good reasons for that. Jonathan, as he was raising the phone from its cradle, inadvertently permitted it to fall into a green pea salad that Anna had vertently left on the phone table. Thus, Harvey's explosive opening statement, sure to get the attention of most listeners, was heard only by lettuce, tomatoes, and mayonnaise. To further complicate matters, Jonathan has inserted nearly a tablespoon of mayo into his ear by placing the receiver against it. He can't hear a thing.
"...are you going to do about it? Hello? Hello?"
Quickly, Jonathan wipes the receiver on his pants and places it gingerly against his other ear. "Jonathan Bell, here. Sorry for the delay." He pokes a finger into the mayoed ear and begins pulling out gobs of the stuff. From his finger, he flings it back into Anna's bowl.
"Is it you?" Harvey asks meekly. What little wind had filled his sails has dissipated. Anger and mayonnaise don't mix.
"It is me," Jonathan says pleasantly. "Who're you?"
"Harvey Czakowski."
"Oh."
"If my daughter dies, I'm going to kill your kid."
"Hold please," Jonathan says. He claps a hand over the mouthpiece so Harvey can't hear. "Tink, er--David! Come here! Now!"
"...my only offspring, so it's only fair...."
David appears before his father. "Yeah, Dad?"
"What have you done to the Czakowski girl? Her father's on the phone."
"Nothing. I haven't done nothing to her since the flies."
"Anything. Haven't done anything."
"Whatever. It isn't worth it. Too much trouble."
"...besides, without my girl, what have I got to live for? Send me to prison! I don't care!"
"Mr. Czakowski, wait a moment, please. I'm talking to my son."
"I'll kill him!" Harvey flares. "I'll--"
"So, you've played no dirty tricks on her? Nothing in her locker? No jokes or anything?"
"That's right, Dad. I swear! I haven't done nothing at school except spill that chocolate milk in my shoe."
"Anything. You haven't done anything."
"That's what I said," David says, turning to go. "You have goop in your ear."
Jonathan turns back to the phone. "We're completely innocent on this end, Mr. Czakowski. 'Fraid I can't help you."
Harvey is silent. He hadn't expected so cavalier a dismissal of his problem. But then, he hadn't explained it very well.
"But, you've got to help me! Lizzie's going to kill herself!"
"She is? Why?"
"Because she's in love! Because love rejected is love denied! Because love denied is life rejected! Because life rejected is death beckoned! Because death is the sole sundered!"
"She's going to kill herself because her shoe's coming apart?"
Harvey paused. "Uh...."
"It's probably not important, anyway. Are you going to stop her?"
"I don't know where she is."
"Where have you looked?"
"Nowhere."
"Oh. Just a minute." Jonathan places his hand over the mouthpiece again. "David! Come here!"
"Yeah, Dad?"
"If you were going to kill yourself, where would you do it?"
"In my bedroom."
"Your bedroom? What's wrong with your bedroom? I thought you liked your bedroom!"
"I do."
Jonathan blinks stupidly as he absorbs the fact that his son would prefer to die in a place where he is comfortable. He skips the fact that David would prefer not to die in the first place.
"Is that all, Dad?"
"Your bedroom?"
"Yeah. Bye..." David bolts from the room. He knows he doesn't want to be part of this conversation.
"I guess you should look in her bedroom, Mr. Czakowski."
"Call me Harvey. What's going on in her bedroom is her business."
"Mr, Czakowski, what's going on in her bedroom is she's killing herself!"
"What's wrong with her bedroom? She likes her bedroom!"
"Mr. Czakowski!"
"All right! All right! Look, I'm still at work. Can you drop by and look in on her?"
"No!" Jonathan blurts. "You look in on her. She's your daughter!"
"...but, you're closer."
"I am?" That doesn't seem likely to Jonathan. "Where do you live?"
"You know that big paisley mansion on Capitol Knoll that was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and everyone says is his worst design ever of all his bad designs?"
"Capitol Knoll?" The Capitol Knoll neighborhood was one of the most exclusive in town. "Frank Lloyd Wright? You mean that house with paint spilled all over it?"
"That's not spilled paint, that's paisley. It's intentional."
"--sure is ugly," Jonathan asserts. "You mean you live there?"
"No, no. Of course not. I live in the back. Go past Frank Lloyd Wright and you'll come to my place. Hurry! She's killing herself as we speak!"
(Absurd. Dementia. Madness...this whole sordid episode. Senseless. Deranged.)
"Meet me there," Jonathan says, hanging up the phone.
(We will, gladly. Anything to conclude this farce! Nearly a third of a chapter spent on Lizzie Czakowski! Can you believe it? What a waste.)
Jonathan takes David with him to identify the body. Jonathan has never laid eyes on Lizzie. David is glad to go. He hopes they're too late.
They nearly miss the house. They would have missed it if David hadn't spied Lizzie on the fourth floor balcony preparing to jump into the azaleas below.
"There she is, Dad," David Bell says. He is disappointed. "Let's go home, now. She's still alive."
Jonathan pulls into the driveway and they get out. The house is huge. It is beautiful. It is a mansion. It has four stories!
"She broke into someone's house to kill herself," Jonathan says. "That's trespassing. What's that she's got in her hand?"
Hearing a sound, Jonathan turns. Harvey Czakowski is coming up the driveway in a battered red pick-up.
"Lizzie!" Harvey cries as he leaps from the truck. "Don't do it! The azaleas!" He stops short and plants his hands on his hips, his legs wide apart. "Get back into your room, young lady! Do your homework!" He pauses for emphasis. "Slow learner! Dyke! Overeater! Polish person! Fatty!"
"Stop that!" Jonathan commands. "You'll give her a complex." He grabs Harvey's arm. "You mean you really live here?"
"A rental," Harvey says. "A temporary situation."
"Dad! She's going to do it! Watch!"
Sure enough. Lizzie is on the verge. She has leaned far over the balustrade, her arms extended before her like a soprano hitting a high note.
"What's that in her hand?"
"A bowl of ice cream," Harvey replies. "Don't worry. She won't jump until it's all gone."
True. In fact, Lizzie won't jump at all. Lizzie has just been given a new lease on life. Lizzie sees the light at the end of the tunnel. Lizzie's life is now a bowl of cherries. And other clichés. Because....
David "Tinker" Bell has come to her rescue! He loves her, surely! He is interested in a relationship, maybe. They could be friends, perhaps. He's noticed her, sort of. He's not averse to her existence, at least. And...she wasn't really going to kill herself, anyway.
"David!" She extends her fealty to him. She extends her love. She extends her ice cream. The balustrade breaks! She falls into the azaleas! She is unhurt except for a minor scratch on one of her many love handles. She leaps up! She starts toward them, azalea blossoms falling like dandruff from her hair! She remembers her ice cream! She is torn between love and ice cream! She chooses love! (It's a breakthrough.)
"Come on, Dad! Let's get outa here!" David hightails it for the car. "Hurry up!"
"Coming." Jonathan is in as big a hurry as his son to get away from there.
"It's all right!" Harvey cries. "I can save them. Azaleas are hardy."
"Good," Jonathan says, snatching open the car door.
"A new mulch, tie back the broken--"
Slam! The car door is closed! Lizzie is bearing down on them!
"Start it, Dad! Hurry!"
The car starts. It's in gear. They are backing down the driveway as Lizzie wheezes to a stop beside her father.
"David! I love you!"
"--some pruning--," Harvey says.
"You came for me! I love you!"
"--a nice root stimulant--" He becomes aware of Lizzie beside him (who wouldn't, it's like the Goodyear blimp parking on your shoulder). "You love him? Tinker Bell? He's the one?"
"He's beautiful! David! Come back!"
"But, you can't love him! Look at you...a fat...Polish person!"
"Where's he going?" She yearns after the fleeing car. She wheels on Harvey. "You! You sent them away, didn't you?"
Harvey backs up a step or two. A wheeling Lizzie is best kept at arms length. "I didn't! I swear!"
"Harvey...." She advances on him.
"I swear! They--they left on their own! Appointments, they said!" He draws himself up. "And good riddance."
"They were running from me, then." She looks down at herself. It takes more than one look. Suddenly, she flings the ice cream to the ground. "No more ice cream!"
"What?"
"No more chocolate turtles, either!"
"What! But, Liz--"
"No more snacking on frozen Crisco!"
"Lizzie, you can't be serious--"
"No cheese balls! No nut-filled butter-cream lard cake!"
"Your favorite!"
"Not any more!"
"What about egg 'n butter nibbles?"
"No! Nothing with butter!
"Fries 'n cheese cake?"
"No!"
"Bacon with creamed sugar glaze?"
"Absolutely not!"
"You're upset, Lizzie. You don't know what you're saying!" Harvey decides to get tough. "You worthless child! Get in that house and eat!"
"Shut up, Harvey!"
"Lemon butter curls. Chocolate chips in olive oil! Fast food!"
Lizzie reaches for Harvey, to do him harm. Fortunately, her movements are a little ponderous and he escapes. He darts for the house. "Sausage cake with squirrel lard topping! Polish pork 'n cream! Cholesterol surprise!" Harvey knows her favorites. He hopes to lure her to the kitchen. "Pasta Gigantique! Rice patties n' butter!
Lizzie stops. She watches as Harvey, unaware that he's no longer being pursued, disappears into the house.
"--biscuit dough. Cinnamon turkey fat...."
She waddles off to her room. In her mind's eye, there's a vision of herself as she was at age nine. Svelte, sexy, and definitely not a dyke.
And not Lizzie, either. (Who, then?)